the services she renders to those who come knocking

[quietsideways]

Madeline doesn't make her way to the nexus often, and twice in such a short span of time is more than she's done since she was still with Gabriel, if she's remembering correctly. She doesn't really like to. (That's not true, but she knows she shouldn't still linger. It's not a sign of good mental health, and she needs to be careful about that,

Comments

[sheepsclothes]

Now, there is a small hitch in Garath's plan; while he knows, in a very specific sort of way, who it is he's looking for...he doesn't know who he's looking for. Which translates, loosely, to 'he has no idea what her fucking name is, good job, Mr Eddings'.

And, while he hasn't got as far in life as he has by letting the little details bog him down, it's mostly luck that she's actually around while he's looking for her. Garath slides into the chair opposite Madeline, a butterfly-bandage holding the cut on his forehead closed to heal (the skin around it is ugly and bruised) and a biscuit tin tucked under his arm. It's anyone's guess whether or not he's actually abashed or he thinks he ought to look abashed.

"Excuse me, miss?"

[quietsideways]

"Mm? - oh!" She's a mistress of those small, expressive sounds, really, and not bad at wide eyed surprise either. She recognizes him, of course, it's not like she's that jaded, but she'd never expected to run into him again. Really.

She marks her page and sets her book down immediately, remembering to smile, even if it's slightly awkward.

[sheepsclothes]

"I hope I didn't startle you too badly," he says, good-naturedly apologetic, and sets the tin down on the table between them. "Do you mind?" ...him abruptly joining her, one assumes.

[quietsideways]

"No, not at all- neither of those, I mean," she says, shrugging and leaning back just a little in her chair. "How's your- you know." She gestures at her own forehead, looking sympathetic.